


Fire Burning

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, affair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-22
Updated: 2010-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-19 15:24:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty five years after the war, an affair still burns brightly. The most important thing is that everyone keeps up the appearance of hating each other...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire Burning

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for muggled in response to a drabble challenge. It didn't come out as a drabble. Oops.
> 
> The characters and world of Harry Potter are owned by JK Rowling; no infringement is intended and I'm making no money off of this.

When Draco Malfoy stalked down the hallways, his robes flowing around him in a manner reminiscent of his father, everyone got out of his way. As he strode into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a quick glare scattered everyone except the young woman sitting outside a closed door. "Is she inside?" he asked, one eyebrow arching.

"She is, Mr. Malfoy, but she has requested..." The young woman barely managed to get the words out before he was knocking on the door. "Mr. Malfoy!" she protested. "She does not wish to be disturb--"

The door opened, and Hermione stood there, her gaze sharp and angry. "What is so important that you could not simply send a memorandum, Mr. Malfoy?"

He turned his glare to her. "This." A folder was held in the air. "The response we've received from your department is absolutely appalling, and makes our case impossible. An obstruction of justice."

"Mrs. Weasley, I tried--"

Hermione sighed and looked at her assistant. "I understand, Joanne. Please, go take a break. I shouldn't think you'd enjoy the shouting. Mr. Malfoy--" She pulled the door open and gestured sharply. "Do come in, and we shall discuss your issues."

Draco swept inside, and as the door closed behind him, he reached out to place the familiar privacy charm. He could hear the faint sounds of a muffled argument, and knew that ears pressed to pry in search of gossip would be assuaged by those impossible to understand shouts. Then he turned to face Hermione, a half smile starting to quirk his lips. "It has been a while," he murmured.

Hermione sat on the desk, deft fingers picking at the fastenings of her formal robes. "Summers are hard," she reminded him. "Appearances must be kept around the children."

Draco watched in fascination as Hermione's skin was revealed by inches. It had been twenty five years since the end of the war, and twenty five years since a tentative friendship had become an on-again, off-again torrid affair. And still, he couldn't resist that slow reveal of something he wanted so very much. He stepped close enough that he could follow the path of her fingers, trailing over her skin and feeling her shiver in response. "And so they must, but I have still missed you."

He nudged the robes from her shoulders, letting her work the fastenings on his own clothing. They wouldn't have long, and he would need to be prepared to storm out when they were done, ending the argument. This was their life together, lived in stolen moments and whispered words, hungers fed when need became so desperate that there was nothing to be done for it. He stole a kiss, restrained at first touch, then gathering her close, pulling her up into his arms as he turned and held her, straddling him as he leaned against the desk. His teeth grazed her jaw, then her neck, and she cried out softly. "Don't stop." Her voice shook as her hands stroked over the familiar thin planes of his body. "Please don't stop."

He held her so she could lean back, his mouth tasting her, teasing her. Twenty fives years, and he remembered the young body she had then, and loved the softer curves that hid beneath her robes now. Her nipples were still just as sensitive as they had always been, taut as he caught one with his teeth, tugging gently, then suckling hard enough to leave a faint mark. She liked it rough, and he knew that he was the only one who had ever discovered this. The only one she allowed this pleasure. He lingered, first one breast then the next, waiting until she was whimpering in frustration, hips rocking against his, begging her.

It was familiar, this position, as he carried her to the high backed desk chair, settling back in it with her straddled over him, sinking down until she took him inside of her. He groaned at the familiar feel, at the way she moved over him, hair coming out from the careful bun she wore during the day, falling across his chest as she nipped at his skin. His fingers dug into her ass, tugging her ass cheeks apart, teasing her as he thrust up and into her.

This was home. This was his heart. This was love.

He slowed when she was close, driving hard again when she started to relax, until she couldn't take the teasing any more and came with a cry, muffled by his mouth on hers to swallow his name when she gasped it out. And he held her then, as close as he could, the tremors sweeping over him as he lost control, and came, buried inside her.

She curled against his chest, breath shuddering softly in and out as he stroked her back. It would be months, perhaps, he knew, until he had the excuse to see her again like this. This one moment had to carry them through.

"Do you ever regret the decision we made?" she asked softly.

They had been twenty then, and no one knew they had been seeing each other. No one knew of time spent in museums, of trips to France and Italy, of secret hideaways in hotels. No one knew, because no one would have approved, and neither wanted to spoil this treasured feeling with the fury of others.

"The world was the way it was," he spoke just as quietly, lips pressed against her hair. "It was expected you would marry Weasley, just as it was expected that I should hold my place in society. The world was not ready to be changed, not then. Not that overtly; had we chosen one another, we would have both lost our positions and neither of us would have accomplished what we have in these last twenty five years."

"You have a point," she agreed. The discussion was as familiar as the way their bodies fit. At times, he would be the one to ask, at others it would be her. Neither of them regretted it. She loved Ron, and he knew that, and he supposed, in his way, he loved Astoria. But nothing was quite like they were together, here. He wondered if this fire would have survived, if they had let it burn the way it wished, or if it would have simply burned out and left them as husks. This fire, sometimes, it seemed was what drove them forward.

"The world will change, though," she said, in a small deviation from the script. And Draco smiled at that.

"It will indeed. Have you heard from Rose, then?" he asked.

"An owl last night, sent to me alone. She doesn't think her father is quite ready for the news," Hermione laughed softly.

"Nor do I. I received Scorpius' letter this morning. He's quite certain his mother will disown him."

"Will she?" Hermione asked.

"Not if I refuse," Draco replied. "Perhaps it will last, and they'll have what we could not."

Hermione caught his hand in hers, raising it to her lips to kiss his fingers, then cradling it trapped between their chests. "We have it. Just not all the time. But it's... it's enough."

It was never enough, but it was what it was, and it was all they were given. And they accepted it. "I should go, love." Draco stole one last kiss before she stepped away. He helped her put her hair back to rights, and they ensured their robes were straight with no signs of the truth of their encounter.

As the privacy spell faded, Draco bellowed, "And I shall be back in a week, Weasley. One week, and I expect that you'll have the materials properly prepared."

Hermione yanked the door open, fully aware of the audience outside as she glared at Draco and crossed her arms. "Go through the proper channels, Mr. Malfoy," she said coldly. "Send a memorandum and request the materials, and send an aid when they are ready. Do not darken my doorstep again."

"Be assured," Draco sneered, "that if I do not receive what I need within the alotted time, I shall be back."

He left in a swirl of robes, and a slamming of doors. And everyone watching knew he would be back to argue again, because Draco Malfoy had never been one to let well enough alone.

And Hermione, for one, was glad of that.


End file.
